Charles Brokaw - The Lucifer Code

‘What do you want, Detective Ersoz?’

Ersoz held his thumb and forefinger about a quarter-inch apart. ‘Only a short amount of your time, Professor.’

‘I suppose I have no choice?’

‘Of course you have a choice.’ Ersoz smiled. ‘You can come of your own free will, or we can arrest you and take you out of here in handcuffs.’

‘I suppose a shower is out of the question.’

‘I must express my apologies for the hurry. My superior did ask me to bring you in the moment you showed up.’

Lourds sighed. ‘Of course he did.’

‘People died yesterday morning, Professor. There always has to be an accounting for something like this.’ Ersoz stood and fastidiously shot his cuffs. ‘Let’s go.’

Without another word, Lourds clapped his hat on his head once more and grabbed his backpack. He followed the big man out of the room.

Olivium Outlet Centre

Zeytinburnu District

Istanbul, Turkey

17 March 2010

When you have to disappear, the best place to disappear is inside a crowd.

Cleena’s father had taught her that when she was twelve and she’d started carrying guns for him to sell on the streets. That had been back when Ryan MacKenna had been working hand-to-mouth on the street in Boston’s Combat Zone. He’d sold weapons by the piece in those days, and often Cleena had carried them for him.

She’d learned how to run and hide during those days, and she’d become one of the best at it. No one had ever caught her, not the police and not other street gangs. She’d had a mental map of all the alleys and rooftops that afforded some measure of concealment and paths to safety. She’d ducked through tight places slick as a rat, and flew from rooftop to rooftop like one of the pigeons.

As soon as she’d quit Lourds and the robed strangers, she’d headed into the Zeytinburnu District. She’d been to Istanbul before, procuring weapons, and knew the area well enough. The neighbourhood was hard and hungry. During the day, quick-footed boys stole purses and wallets from tourists adventurous or ill-informed enough to come into the neighbourhood in search of vice. At night, the prostitutes and street-corner hustlers came out to ply their trades in the shadows. In the beginning, Zeytinburnu had been home to the leather industry in Turkey. That coastal area had been called Kazlicesme, after a famous stone fountain featuring a carved goose. These days, the goose was gone and so was the leather industry, but a mixed stew of Greeks, Bulgarians, Jews, Turks and Armenians still eked out a living there. Despite the difference in culture and dialect, Cleena knew she spoke the same language as the rough men and women working the streets. And she knew a lot about the struggling middle class living the straight life. Every metropolitan city had an underbelly like this one.

She’d bought clothing from a second-hand store and was now dressed in American jeans that mostly fit her, a pastel grey pullover that looked new, work boots and a quilted jacket. Wraparound sunglasses hid her eyes and she’d tucked her flaming red hair up under a black watch cap.

She carried a Czech 9mm pistol in the back of her waistband where she could get to it quickly if she needed to. A quick visit to a gun dealer she knew had netted her a clean pistol, with the understanding that the one she’d used as part of the payment was too hot to sell as it was.

Now you just make your arrangements and blow this pop stand, Cleena told herself as she strode through the Olivium Outlet Centre. Throngs of people surrounded her as she walked through the shopping mall. Four stories tall, and huge, the mall housed well over one hundred shops these days. Many of them carried named brands from the United States and Great Britain. There were theatres, a supermarket and several fast-food restaurants.

Cleena found a cyber café and purchased time on a card. She gave a false name and false identification to secure the computer.

Selecting one of the computers near the window that looked out over the wall, Cleena logged on and brought up the phone server her sister used. Brigid was for ever texting her friends. Cleena had learned how to text, but she didn’t except rarely. She’d preferred since childhood not to leave trails.

At the server, she checked the text log of the pre-paid cell phone she’d purchased in the airport. She’d ditched that phone when she’d dumped her clothes, and bought another phone in the mall.

Normally there were only occasional messages from Brigid. This time there were fourteen. All of them said the same thing.

CALL ME.

Cleena could almost hear the panic in her sister’s voice. She cancelled the session, dumped the access card in the basket, and left the shop.

Returning to the ground floor, Cleena took up a post near an escalator bank that allowed her an escape route in both directions. She watched the crowd, looking through the individuals to spot independent predatory approaches. She kept her jacket loose so she could easily reach the pistol. There were too many people looking for Professor Lourds or the manuscript that he’d taken.

She took the pre-paid cell phone out and dialled the number of the clean phone she’d given Brigid before leaving Boston. Cleena made herself breathe.

The phone rang once, twice, then three times.

Answer! Cleena almost cried out loud. Her mind filled with images of horrible things that could have happened to her sister. Memories of her father’s torn and bloody body still haunted her dreams.

The phone rang a fourth time.

People went about their business all round her with maddeningly carefree attitudes. She wanted to move, to pace, to be in motion and not stand there waiting for no news.

Then Brigid finally answered the phone. ‘Hello?’

From that single word, Cleena knew how frightened her sister was. Brigid was always happy-go-lucky. And if she wasn’t, she was whiny and sarcastic and near-insufferable. It was what younger sisters were, after all.

‘Hello.’ Cleena heard the tight scratchiness of her voice.

‘Are you all right?’

Cleena kept her eyes moving. Now that she’d made contact with her sister, it was possible that someone could already be tracking the connection through a GPS satellite.

‘I’m fine. How’s the bird?’ The question was a code Cleena had established to ensure that Brigid was alone.

‘Forget about the code,’ Brigid angrily. ‘Something has happened that you need to know. I’ve been waiting for hours to get in contact with you.’

‘I haven’t been able to get to the phone. Tell me about the bird.’

‘There isn’t time to-’

‘To what?’ Cleena snapped. ‘Be careful? If you’re freaked, then this sounds like the perfect time to be careful.’

Brigid cursed at the other end of the connection. She never did that. Cleena forced herself to remain calm and focused. They had safety procedures built in for a purpose. She and their father had lived by them.

‘Jughead,’ Brigid said. ‘There. Are you happy?’

They’d had a bird, a dove, and they’d named it after a popular comic book character they’d liked. They’d loved the bird, but one day Brigid had brought a stray cat home. When they’d come back to the apartment from school, the cat had knocked Jughead’s cage onto the floor and killed it. Only its head and feet were left. Brigid had cried for days, but she’d never forgotten that Jughead was safer alone. When a stranger was in the house, or near, all of them were at risk.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Someone came to the bar last night. He threatened me. And then he hurt me.’

Swiftly, Cleena bottled the rage that swelled within her. A hot mind is only a danger to itself, girlie, her father had told her over and over. You save that anger for when you need it. But before you use it, you make sure it’s gone cold and hard. That’s when it’ll be dangerous to someone else, not you.